


Don't Let Me Drown

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Drowning, Fear, Pushing Fears, Water
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since the kanima, Jackson hasn’t just had nightmares about drowning, he hasn’t been able to set foot in the water at all. This is NOT an acceptable situation for the captain of the swim team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Let Me Drown

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for prompt #56 - Float at fullmoon_ficlet. This is for bdrixhaettc, who requested this ficlet for this prompt. This takes place post season 2 and utterly ignores season 3 in all ways. As always, I do not own the world or characters of Teen Wolf, I’m just playing with them.

Jackson doesn’t want to go in the pool.

He stands at the edge, staring down into the water. It’s crystal clear and highly chlorinated—the scent makes his new senses sting and his eyes water. He lifts his foot, manages to get it over the water before he takes two steps back, shaking his head. “No way,” he mutters. “No way.”

It’s not the right answer, though. He knows it’s not the right answer, and he can’t make himself leave any more than he can make himself get into the water. He’s the captain of the swim team. Recently dead or not, there is _no way_ he can let anyone see his fear.

He catches the scent of an intruder before he hears footsteps and sees Boyd approaching. He’s never seen Boyd in the pool, and the long, loose swim trunks seem out of place in an area designed for small speedos and racing gear. Jackson blinks and his brow furrows. “Why are you here?” He doesn’t need a witness to the fact that he’s been broken.

“Derek sent me.” Boyd’s voice rumbles, quiet and low. He takes up space next to Jackson, looming there, but Jackson won’t back away from him. “He said you need help.” The tone makes it obvious that Boyd’s there because Derek sent him, not out of any love for Jackson.

“I don’t need help,” Jackson sneers. He does, of course, but he doesn’t _want_ it, and he doesn’t like the idea of Derek (and now Boyd) even knowing that he needs it. He turns his back deliberately, crossing his arms and staring down at the water.

It’s funny how it feels like the pool stares back.

It’s not a monster. In fact, it’s one of the few places where Jackson’s been comfortable until now. He has always excelled in the water. It came naturally ever since he was small, and he figures his birth parents must have been swimmers… he wanted to get in the water before his mother was even ready to get him near it. As soon as he started lessons he had it all figured out, no fear of putting his face in, no trouble learning how to find the rhythm for breathing while he stroked through the water with long, lean pulls.

Now, though… now it feels wrong.

Arms wrap around him from behind and he’s flying, splashing down and he screams when the water closes over him. He inhales and comes up coughing, flailing, splashing as he tries to shoot up and out of the water, but something holds him down.

“Stay,” Boyd tells him, and Jackson couldn’t get away if he wanted to. He might be werewolf strong, but Boyd is stronger, and he’s holding on so tight that Jackson can’t do anything but shiver.

“Tell anyone I screamed and I will cut you from head to toe,” Jackson mutters. Boyd snorts, but he also nods, and Jackson accepts that as a response.

“What’s going on?” Boyd asks.

Jackson inhales roughly, trying to keep his bearings. He’s standing on the bottom of the pool, the water coming up to his chest, lapping lazily along his skin. He feels those wet licks like heat burning against him, and he can feel it in his lungs, choking him. He coughs, and refuses to close his eyes against the imagery; he needs to see reality and grip it with all his strength. “I’m drowning,” he whispers.

“You’re standing,” Boyd points out dryly.

Jackson shakes his head. “I can feel myself going under. I can feel it in my lungs, and I can feel myself dying.”

Boyd rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to let you drown. Besides, you’re a werewolf; you’d heal.” He eases up on the death grip, and Jackson can move his limbs. 

Instinct still says to rush for the edge and climb out, but he forces himself to stay put, seconds passing like hours in slow shuddering breaths.

“Lean back.” 

There’s a palm at Jackson’s back and he follows orders, falling into the touch as the water comes up around him to cradle him. He flails out, and his body folds, and for a moment he sinks under before someone grabs him and helps right him with careful support until he’s floating on his back.

“Close your eyes.”

For a moment, Jackson does, but he feels the water grabbing at him, pulling him under, and he opens them again quickly. “I can’t.”

“Close your eyes.” Boyd’s voice is firm, and Jackson can feel his hands beneath him, holding him up, so he does.

Every slow breath is a moment that he doesn’t fall into the abyss. He eases into his own skin, finding that place where he floats, arms out and legs slightly spread, the buoyancy of the water keeping him up. The warmth of Boyd’s touch leaves his back, and he tries not to panic that he is alone here now until he hears Boyd murmur that he’s not going anywhere.

He’s just standing there, nearby enough to grab onto, but letting Jackson find his place in the water again.

There comes a time when the panic seeps back under his skin. When he rolls over and falls into the water, going under the surface and coming up clinging to Boyd’s body like a tree. He is cradled and lifted, carried out and set on the edge where he can scuttle backwards and be free of the liquid death.

“You did well.” Boyd lifts himself out to sit next to Jackson.

“I panicked.” He can’t help the way he feels; he’s failing. He can’t fail, not now.

Boyd makes a noise and shrugs one shoulder. “So? You won’t the next time. Go do whatever. Meet me back here in an hour. We’re going in again.”

“And if I don’t want to?” Jackson arches one eyebrow in challenge.

“I’ll come find you and I’ll throw you in,” Boyd says calmly. “Don’t worry, you won’t drown.”

“One hour.” Jackson pushes to his feet. “I’ll be here.”

He doesn’t want help. He doesn’t want to show weakness. But maybe pack means he also doesn’t have to do it alone. He hesitates as he grabs a towel so he can dry off and be somewhere else— _anywhere_ else—for the next hour. “Tell Derek he’s an ass.”

Boyd grins. “He’ll say you’re welcome.”

Jackson nods curtly and stalks off. But he’ll be back. He can conquer this. After all, he’s the best at what he does. Always.


End file.
